


A Little Slice of Heaven

by Alliterative_Albatross



Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: Cake, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kitchen Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliterative_Albatross/pseuds/Alliterative_Albatross
Summary: You surprise Ezra with a cake.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	A Little Slice of Heaven

Ezra raises his gaze to the cold gray sky and shivers. 

He’s been planet-side for two standard weeks now, and nearly all of that time he’d spent glued to you. Waking curled next to you in the warm bed, crawling outdoors into the shivering pre-dawn to feed the animals, sprawled in quiet companionship with a book before a roaring fire, rekindling a gentle love he’d nearly forgotten in the wilds of the fringe. It’d been nothing short of pure, domestic bliss, a recovery for body, mind, and soul, and Ezra had basked in every lazy second of it.

It had been a long four years in the green.

This morning, though, things had been different. You’d seemed antsy and preoccupied, glancing at the time and biting your lip almost like you’d wanted him out of your hair. There was nothing nefarious about your behavior, but it was certainly suspicious. So Ezra’d come up with a hollow excuse to spend his morning outside the cottage, actually a little taken aback when you’d agreed so quickly. 

He’d taken off walking down the lane with a basket of fresh eggs in tow, making for the settlement in search of trade. It was an uncommonly cold morning, the sky dark, the clouds hanging sullen and tempestuous in a way that well-matched his mood. Ezra’d spent the hours turning over your time together in his mind, reliving each soft moment, rehashing every conversation. 

Had he been missing something? You’d seemed so happy to have him home. 

He makes his trades quickly, feeling off-centered and conspicuous in public without you. Vespia is a territory of small-town settlements and scattered family farms. Visitors are few and far between. Ezra was never well-connected here, but still, a floater associated with a daughter of the old settlers is something of an oddity in the Territories, and news of his sudden reappearance had set tongues wagging. Hushed whispers and probing stares seem to follow him and his hollow sleeve wherever he goes. 

It’s a relief to leave the marketplace behind. 

Eventually, Ezra’s feet carry him back to your cottage. With a heavy sigh, he rests his head against the doorframe, wondering if he’s been out long enough for you to work through whatever business you’d been so eager to tend this morning. 

Should he even address it? Once, the answer would have come to him easily as breathing, but suddenly, it’s been too long, the years stretched thin and tremulous between you, and now, Ezra isn’t sure. 

He isn’t sure of anything anymore.

The smell is the first thing that hits him. It envelops the whole house, wafting thick and cloying from the kitchen, and Ezra stops dead in the doorway. 

Space doesn’t have much of a smell. Pods are vaguely stale, like air that’s been recycled too many times, and perhaps that air carries a tinge engine grease, if the pod is old enough. Many times in the green, Ezra had imagined what the atmosphere of the moon must be like beyond the slight mustiness of an expired filter, recalling to mind the sharp tang of pine-needles, the freshness of grass crunched underfoot. It hadn’t taken long for those memories to fade, though, and by the time Cee had dragged him half-dead to the freighter, Ezra had forgotten such things.

This scent is nothing like grass. It’s heavier and much sweeter, softer somehow in a way that recalls warmth and laughter and holidays spent indoors.

“My heart?” Ezra calls, suddenly overwhelmed. His earlier angst is entirely forgotten.

“Ezra!” You careen around the corridor, like you’d been waiting eagerly for his return. Ezra catches you in a one-armed hug as you throw yourself into him like it’s been months since he’d left and not mere hours. 

There’s more of the syrupy smell clinging to your hair, and Ezra breathes it in greedily. He pulls back and kisses you hungrily, tasting even more of it on your tongue. “What have you been up to, sweet thing?” he wonders into your mouth. 

“Come and see,” you answer quickly, tugging impatiently at his shirt. Ezra takes you in, all eager eyes and sly expression. 

A surprise, then. He’d been worried for nothing.

You catch his hand, complaining loudly about the chill of his fingers, and Ezra allows himself to be dragged into the kitchen. Now that the dread of the unspoken is out of the way, he’s thoroughly enjoying the suspense.

“I know it’s been a while since you’ve had one of these,” you gush. Ezra watches you raptly as you walk backward, dodging through the cottage corridors on pure instinct, still tugging at his hand. It’s not often that you’re the one babbling, and Ezra savors the moment it like he savors every aspect of being planet-side with you. 

“Sugar is impossible to find, you know, with the freight lanes being what they are, but I struck a deal with the Morgans on the north plot for some of their honey, and most of the other ingredients are easy, so…” you trail off, glancing up at him as if you’re embarrassed to have said so much. 

Ezra grins encouragement at you. He’s missed you for years, had fought tooth and nail and blood and bodies to get home to you. He’s not about to be put off by a little enthusiasm on your part. 

“So, anyway,” you raise your hands in a self-conscious little gesture, waving toward the kitchen table. “Surprise.”

Ezra blinks. “Darlin’,” he drawls, circling the counter and the large serving plate that waits there. “Did you bake me a cake?”

You had. Ezra’s heart clinches painfully in his chest as he takes it in. It’s small, perhaps a little flatter than cakes on Central are likely to be, but that’s no matter. Your cake is golden brown, its round top wavy in a way that recalls to Ezra’s mind peaks and valleys of the mountain planet Escla, topped with a rich brown glaze that glistens as it drips down the hollows of the cake’s surface.

“Well,” you start, almost apologetically. “I wanted to spoil you. It’s been such a long time.”

Ezra pulls you closer, tucking you into his side. “And can I expect such a spoiling frequently?” he teases, dropping a playful little kiss into your hair. He won’t have that tone from you, not today.

It works, startling a giggle out of you. “Until I run out of honey.”

Ezra casts his mind back to the marketplace. He can be quite persuasive in his dealings. After life in the green, a little honey should be easy enough to come by. 

You motion him into a chair. Ezra thinks that he wouldn’t mind sidling up behind you to get a better look at that cake and those curves, but you’re clearly wanting to do this properly, so he sits and allows you to serve him.

You place a thick slice in front of him. Ezra inhales. The cake is still warm, its mottled golden surface glistening with the dark, melted frosting. Chocolate, his memory supplies after a moment.

He swipes his finger through it and pops it into his mouth. 

“Oh, stars.” It’s a perfect explosion of flavor, the sharp, bitter chocolate not quite overwhelmed by the sticky sweetness of the honey. Ezra moans, sucking at his finger until all of the residual stickiness has abated and he can taste nothing but his own skin. 

“Ezra!”

“Mmm?” He hums guiltily up at you, finger in mouth, caught. 

You’re shaking your head, unable to contain your laughter. “Here.” You hand him a glass of milk. 

Ezra raises a skeptical brow as he eyeballs the contents, lifting it for closer inspection. “And is it bovine in nature?” Of all the universe’s mammalian wonders, only a very select few produce a colostrum byproduct even remotely fit for human consumption. The rest should never, ever be milked. “If recollection serves, cows are not in short supply on Vespia.”

You roll your eyes, nothing but affection in the gesture. “Yeah, Ezra. It’s just regular milk. I know what you like, remember?”

“Well, I’m gratified to hear it.” Ezra can certainly attest to this - your memory is incredible.

“Goose.” You tease, swinging your legs as you flop onto the kitchen counter. “Eat your cake.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Ezra considers the slice of cake in front of him, electing to start with the outside, rather than the inner corner. He spears a forkful, careful to balance crisp edge with soft center, dragging the fork across the plate to ensure an even coating of chocolate before finally bringing it to his lips. 

It is worth every effort. The hard-baked edges crunch deliciously against his teeth. Ezra presses them to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, where they _crush-grind-dissolve_ under the pressure. The center is warm, almost hot, coated with the sticky sweet glaze that flakes ever so slightly against his lips. It’s _buttery-sweet-gooey-rich_ in his mouth, and Ezra delves into it, delighted. 

He swallows hard, satisfied with the effort required. The rest of the cake clings heavy to the roof of his mouth, and Ezra swirls his tongue behind his teeth, sucking it free before he remembers the glass of milk.

And oh, that’s even better. The contrast of hot and cold, of silk and crumb, is mind-bogglingly exquisite. Ezra drinks deeply. 

A breathy little squeak pulls him back to reality. Ezra glances up to notice you staring open-mouthed from where you’re perched on the counter. You’re delicate and glowing in the flickering hearth-light, a pretty blush creeping up your neck and cheeks as you stare wide-eyed, gaze riveted on him.

Beautiful.

Ezra’s brow creeps up as he takes you in, all hot face and o-shaped lips and awestruck expression. Well, the sounds he’s making are quite indecent. Completely inappropriate for polite company.

Ezra’s body reacts quite strongly to that thought, and he shoots you a lecherous grin. Certainly, he can put on a show for you, seeing as you’ve made all of this effort for him.

Slowly, he swipes his tongue over his fork so roughly that the tines dig into his flesh, drawing it deep into his mouth and slowly sucking it free again, squeaky-clean. His gaze never leaves yours. 

You giggle at his antics. “So, it’s good, then?”

“Darlin’,” Ezra pauses long enough to down the last of the milk, tilting his head back to expose his neck as he swallows, licking his mustache clean with a smack of his lips. “It leaves absolutely nothing to be desired.”

Now, that is a blatant falsehood. Ezra can think of several other things that would be very, very desired right now. But there’s certain anticipation required for proper wooing that hasn’t quite been met, and besides, there’s still another forkful of cake left.

He makes quick work of that, though, shooting you a naughty look as he licks the plate clean for good measure.

You hop down from the counter as he rises from the table, pausing as you take the plate from his hand. 

“What?” he asks. You’re staring intently at the corner of his mouth, and Ezra can’t help but notice.

“You missed a spot.” Coyly, you reach up to swipe at his lips, brushing away crumbs.

“I miss nothing,” Ezra replies. Quick as a striking cobra, he catches your fingers between his lips, drawing them straight into his mouth before you can blink. His tongue rolls between them, lapping at their webbing as he sucks a gentle pressure against your skin. You gasp as he releases you with a soft, wet pop.

You’re looking up at him, all shaken and flabbergasted and mighty pretty, and Ezra has the thought that he might like to eat you, too, taste your sweetness right here on the kitchen table. “Precious girl,” he murmurs into the hot skin of your neck, “what are my chances of a second helping?” He snakes his hand down to plunder the supple curve of your ass. 

Biting your lip, you gesture to the cake that’s cooling on the kitchen counter. 

Oh, no, none of that false modesty. Ezra catches your jaw with a finger, tilts your chin up to face him. “Do not misunderstand me.” That’s not what he meant, and you know it. 

You raise your eyebrow to him, grinning in challenge, and Ezra suddenly remembers that you have an equal understanding of the intricate technicalities required for proper wooing. 

“Well, Ezra,” you say slowly. Your voice thoroughly drips with seduction, and you’re running that wet pink tongue of yours at the edge of your teeth in the way that drives him wild. “I didn’t want to presume.” 

You take a step forward, the soft heat of your chest pressed into his shirt, grinning, expectant.

Ezra decides that the time for wooing is long past. “Presume away, darlin’” he purrs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on tumblr @disgruntledspacedad


End file.
